


Beneath the Walls of Winterfell

by Nokomis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon feels uneasy in the crypts below Winterfell. (Set pre-series; no spoilers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Walls of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lielabell's prompt on my LJ. Set pre-season one/book one; no spoilers.

The first time Jon had been down to the crypts beneath Winterfell without his father, Robb had been beside him, pulling him along, staring up at the stern-faced Kings of Winter and trying to imitate their expressions. They were both past their eighth name days, and Robb was eager to prove himself a man.

Jon was too nervous to do anything that might seem mocking; he felt distinctly out of place here. These statues represented kings and lords, and Jon could see echoes of his own face in theirs. There was a King of Winter with the same nose as Jon, and further down, past the King Who Knelt, was a lord who looked uncannily like their father, and thus, Jon. 

Robb didn’t look like any of them. 

But they wore crowns on their heads and had iron swords on their laps, and Jon knew that he wasn’t destined for anything like that. He wasn’t a Stark, for all that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather were, and he would never be buried down here with the rest of the Starks. No one had to tell him. He knew his place.

And it wasn’t in these crypts.

But he loved Robb and let him drag him along, and laughed quietly when Robb made a particularly silly face, and didn’t even flinch when his laughter echoed through the darkness.

Robb settled into the alcove that was reserved for their father, just past the statues of their grandfather, uncle and aunt. “It’s not scary down here. You were nervous for nothing.”

“If it’s not scary, then why aren’t you down here?” Jon asked, stepping further into the darkness, careful to keep his candle lit as he stepped into the alcove that would one day be Robb’s crypt. 

Robb hesitated. 

“And I wasn’t nervous because I was frightened,” Jon said, returning to their father’s future crypt and settling across from Robb. The candles flickered but continued to hold the darkness at bay. Jon stared down the corridor at the statue of his aunt, barely within the meager circle of light the candles gave off, so that he wouldn’t have to look Robb in the face for the next thing he had to say. Robb didn’t understand what it was like to be a bastard because Robb had always _belonged_. “I’m nervous because this is a Stark place.”

“You’ve Stark blood,” Robb said stubbornly.

“But not the name,” Jon pointed out. Their lord father treated them nearly the same, but the Lady Catelyn had made certain that Jon knew he had no right to anything attached to the name. “You’ll be interred here one day, but not me.” He wasn’t sure if he was jealous or grateful. 

Robb’s chin had a stubborn set Jon didn’t see often. “Yes, you will. You’re my brother and one day I’ll be lord of Winterfell, and I can give you a crypt if I want. Father gave Aunt Lyanna one, and his brother too, and they weren’t lords.”

Jon smiled, but the shadows didn’t feel any less menacing. “Maybe,” he just said. 

“Want to go see if we can find those lower levels Father mentioned?” Robb asked, standing suddenly. His candle burned brightly, and he didn’t seem to even notice the darkness.

“Not enough Stark bones up here to keep you happy?” Jon asked, following Robb into the dark.

“Maybe we’ll find the other Snows,” Robb teased in return. 

Jon pushed him, and laughed when Robb landed squarely in one of the shallow puddles that formed from the water that slowly dripped from the high stone ceiling. His candle sputtered out, and he threw himself after Jon, chasing him back towards their recent ancestor’s crypts. 

Jon’s candle died during the frantic chase, but the path was straight and with his and Robb’s laughter echoing through the tomb, it somehow seemed less frightening.

When the emerged, covered in grave dirt and cobwebs, nearly an hour later, the brightness of the overcast day was nearly blinding. 

Jon didn’t seek out the crypts, not like Robb, but somehow they never seemed quite as dark as before.


End file.
